


in the little corner where the grass tall grows

by Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Angst, Death, Good Evening. Have some Suffering, Pre-Canon, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22362151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: He thought back to his own apartment, to his dreams of a bigger place. He could have invited him to live together, if he’d known sooner. There would have been enough space: he would have made sure of that.He would have made sure he was anywhere but there.In such a grey, oppressive room.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	in the little corner where the grass tall grows

His things.

He just… He just wanted to clean up. Collect his things. Find…

Find…

His address.

He’d found his address, and he was going to collect his things.

Kim opened the door with a long breath to be met by a still, dusty, filthy, unhealthy grey, and found himself wanting to close it as soon as possible. The room smelled of moondust, of closed spaces that seldom ever open for a breath of air; the void inside of it felt unmovable.

Stepping in was like voluntarily sinking into quicksand.

He thought back to his own apartment, to his dreams of a bigger place. He could have invited him to live together, if he’d known sooner. There would have been enough space: he would have made sure of that.

He would have made sure he was anywhere but there.

In such a grey, oppressive room.

Something moved. A small body scuttled across the floor in a second, darting in and out of his sight in the blink of an eye: a lizard, its tail disappearing under the blanket curled miserably on the mattress abandoned on the floor. The only sign of any possible life having inhabited that sterile room aside from a chair on which a similar but older reptilian stared at him with her slitted pupils.

Kim extended his hand to rub a fingertip on Stuhl’s head. She leaned into it.

Strangely, they recognized each other.

“I remember you.” the man whispered quietly, crouched to look at the animal in the eye. “In a big pocket, all cozied up with a friend of yours.”

The old lizard slithered down the chair and onto his leg.

“Has he always lived like this? And never said a word?”

Stuhl didn’t answer. Not with words, not with signs, not with movements. She climbed down onto the grey floor and scuttled away to a lone forgotten black sock around which some other lizards were agitating about.

They scattered as Kim came closer and took a peer of theirs out of the garment.

Kàltsa didn’t move when he was picked up, nor when he was cupped in the man’s hands. Stuhl curled on top of his shoe.

Another funeral. A smaller one, but a funeral nonetheless.

He felt like crying so badly.

The old reptile found a safe, warm haven in the pocket of Kim’s jacket, and he began making some order in his mind.

Food, what little there was - to some shelters.

The blanket, as well; washed, then shelter.

Mattress and chair… He’d have to decide. Maybe later.

And the lizards.

He caressed Kàltsa’s unmoving, scaly abdoment with the back of his index finger, kindly, absent-mindedly. He mouthed a wordless lullaby as he laid the small body on the ground and more little creatures approached him, grappling onto him with their tiny feet, climbing upon him to perch on his shoulders. Dozens of small, cool bodies clinging to him like little children. Looking over the still husks so similar to them laying quietly in the grey room.

Kim collected them. The seed of his song was still blooming on his lips.

Many little funerals for many little bodies,  
without many little caskets, but only many little flowers.  
Many little funerals to which no one will go,  
for many little lives nobody could care for.

The blanket was bloated, unmoving on top of the mattress. Maybe some lizards were still there, seeking some warmth.

He slept there. Maybe some of his heat had been left behind.

Did they know it - feel it, that morning, that he wouldn’t have come back?

That they would have never enjoyed laying on his dotted skin, or hide in his uncombed hair again. That his hands would have never held them again. That no matter how much they would have waited, he wouldn’t have ever opened that door again and found himself sorrounded by the lifeless grey walls, stuck between a lifeless grey ceiling and a lifeless grey pavement with them. He would have never come back to what family he had left.

The contents of the blanket made a strange sound when he tried to remove it.

He found a few more lizards, colder that their peers.

And he found the heads.

Skulls, to be precise.

Wooden carved animal skulls. Nine of them. Of relatively small size, definitely not a perfect in scale replica of their original counterparts. Each one showed an astounding attention to detail. They were sturdy, if a little coarse to the touch. Picking them up felt like a great sacrilege, an invasion of divine privacy.

Kim wrapped them carefully in the blanket again together with a worn animal anatomy book he found laying next to the makeshift bed.

The sleeping reptiles were laid in a pocket.

He left with his shoulders colonized by the living lizards.

He closed the door behind him.

A little hole for every little soul, all around the little skeletons  
in the little corner where the grass tall grows and the petals rotten go,  
for nobody ever comes, nobody ever cares,  
nobody has an idea who or what sleeps there. 

He’d never taken care of lizards before.

It was only natural that they wouldn’t last very long with him.

Some left by their own volition, and he never stopped them. Better to feed themselves on their own than to rely on someone who didn’t know what they could and couldn’t eat. Some died, and each week when he went to the graveyard he would dig up a new small hole, careful for each to have their individual spot. He couldn’t do much more for it, after all.

Stuhl didn’t like chairs anymore. She preferred his hand, the heat radiating weakly from it probably far more suited for a distinguished lizard of her age.

When Kim awoke a morning and found her completely still, it felt strange.

It felt like hollowing.

She’d lived for so long, he thought.

He cradled her body in a hand and stared intently at it. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever been scared or disgusted by reptiles. He’d seen her around for so long. He’d kept her with him for so long. He would never leave her alone at home - he was worried it would have been colder there than in the folds of his jacket or vest.

He buried her next to Kàltsa. He came back home and laid on his bed, fully clothed and devoid of thoughts, for at least an hour.

When he began crying, he wasn’t sure of why he was doing so.

The skulls remained still, carefully wrapped in a soft cloth to prevent them from aging or worsen their condition. He found a carpenter who was willing to carve him a lizard skull. The polished surface didn’t feel right.

He’d only recognized one of the skulls - a dove.

The only one that looked like something to wear, like a pendant.

The worn animal anatomy book remained perfectly still on one of his shelves.

Kim worried opening would have broken it.

He couldn’t risk it.

That was all he had left of him.

Many little funerals for many little lives,  
all around the tall corpse that among them lies.  
Nobody ever knew, nobody ever knows,  
who rests in the little corner where the grass tall grows.


End file.
